Koshenka
by Celena Sarai
Summary: Chapter 2 Up! The Russian Revolutions of 1917 coerce more than just a new life for a young Russian girl as she discovers there is more to her than meets the eye. Can she survive an abduction to have her vengeance? Full summary in Chapter 1.
1. A Cold Night and A Cold Blooded Murder

_Summary:  
A young Russian girl led a rather typical Russian life in the early 1900's. She and her family lived happily together just outside of the centre of Moscow for several years, untouched by the change that was brewing in the hearts of the Russian people. Even after the Revolutions started, the family remained untouched until the Revolutions came bursting through their front door. In a rush, the young girl lost her family to a group of executioners. By some miracle, she managed to escape the slaughter, only to run into the hands of Yevgeniy, a mysterious man that took her under his arm moments after she fled. The girl quickly came to realize that she had run from danger, only to wind up in danger yet again. Would she ever be able to escape the abduction? And even if she did, how would she alone be able to overcome so many high obstacles to extract vengeance for her family? Would she ever be able to trust a soul after so many betrayals? At first, it seemed impossible and hopeless. And then, the young girl noticed a change about herself and realized that she now held advantages against the cold, unmerciful nights of Russia._

A/N: ..Reuploaded Chapter One, completely forgot the authour's note! Okay, so, yes, this is a rewrite of an old story I used to have that I abandoned for about two or three years. Considering I lengthened the first chapter by about four pages in Word and I cut down on the one-liner paragraphs that I despise, I think I am doing a bit better of a job writing these days ;) ...Not that it's quantity over quality or anything; I just reread the sentences and winced at the short, choppy little things. That's not to say suddenly I have no grammar mistakes, I'm...pretty sure I do. Mmf. So, feel free to review and comment on those; all constructive criticism is greatly appreciated. :D

So read. And enjoy. And if this chapter doesn't catch you, try the next one. This is more of a flashback-ish sort of deal, to set the scene with some background information (gasp). Please Read and Review. They make me happy. :P

* * *

A light flurry of snow cascaded out of the grey skies above Moscow that evening. It was early March, 1917, and the February Revolution had already begun. Workers in Moscow and Petrograd were striking, and riots over food shortages and anti-government sentiments broke out all over the cities. The military had orders to stop the riots, but many soldiers refused to shoot the citizens. In fact, they joined them in the strikes and riots, and the military lost all control of the situation.

A young woman and her younger brother were playing outside their home in Moscow, laughing and throwing small snowballs at each other. Their father watched them from the back door with a fond smile quirking the corners of his lips. The newly fallen snow providing padding for the little boy, as he launched himself at his sister, but fell short. The girl grinned and bounded several feet away, quickly bending down to cup snow between her glove-covered hands, forming a snowball. The moment her brother rose from his bed of snow, she threw the little white ball and watched it splatter in victory upon his coat. The boy shivered as snow found its way down the back of his coat and onto the skin of his neck, yet it quickly melted due to his warmth and the discomfort was forgotten. Vengeance on his mind, he quickly turned towards his sister and bolted, this time launching his small body towards her a fraction of a second later, and that was the only adjustment that he needed. The girl let out a yelp as the smaller body collided with her own, causing both to fall back into the bedding of snow. Now the siblings wrestled, the boy having a slight advantage of having already been on top.

After a few more moments of watching the little skirmish, the father opened the backdoor and raised his voice to his playing children. "Come, children! It's time for dinner!" The girl looked up at the voice and waved to her father, and then stood up and brushed the snow off of her outer jacket. Glancing to her brother, she smirked and reached to lace fingers with his hand, helping him to stand before walking together towards the open door. "Hi Papa!" The girl greeted her father eagerly when she had finally made it through the door and into the warmth of the house.

"Hey there. Looks like you won the little fight outside." The father's smile grew into a grin as blue eyes caught sight of their red noses and cheeks, as well as their eyelashes sprinkled with snowflakes slowly melting.

"Nah, he did. You only saw half the fight, anyway." The girl corrected him with a similar grin upon her thin lips. Now came the ritual where she just about lost her bodyweight in the form of layers: she took off her two hats, two scarves, two pairs of gloves, and several coats that were now unnecessary in the warm room. She rubbed her warm hands against her rosy cheeks, and then helped her brother as he tried to pull off a scarf that had become entangled with his second scarf. Little did the unsuspecting children know of the danger and misery that the revolution would bring to their family.

Both children picked up their layers and carried them towards the corner, to place them out of the way where servants would sort through and organize them later. The girl ran her slender fingers over the sky blue dress, straightening out a few wrinkles. From the corner of her eye, she caught a movement, and her head immediately shot up, eyes focused on the spot as she raised a finger, pointing. "Papa, look!"

The father followed her eyes and her finger towards an empty corner, brow furrowing a bit in confusion. "…what am I looking at?" He asked slowly, eyes moving from the corner towards his daughter now.

The young woman giggled. "It is the domovoi. You know; the house spirit! He said he's feeling mischievous and wants to know if he can cause just a little bit of trouble." For a moment, she seemed to follow something with her eyes, the grin from earlier having returned to her face. Then she glanced to her father, head tilting as she waited for an answer.

Frowning, her father reached and grabbed a sleeve of the dress gently, pulling her aside so that her brother was out of earshot. "You are not to see spirits." His voice was low, in a husky, hurried whisper. "Ignore them if they bother you. Especially around guests!"

The girl's grin faded into a small look of disappointment, and she glanced over her father's shoulder and shook her head. "He says no, domovoi." Only a few moments passed before one of the windows close by opened for a moment, and then slammed shut, followed by the telltale click of the lock. The daughter smiled and waved towards the window, and then dropped her hand and glanced to her father for his reaction.

His head had snapped towards the opening window and cool breeze that followed, eyes transfixed on it as it slammed shut, and then locked. "…I'll pretend that didn't happen and that your hallucinations are wearing off on me." He muttered after a moment, shaking his head slowly. Holding the girl's hand, he moved towards his son and ruffled his hair, before taking his hand as well. "A nice, warm dinner is surely ready for us by now. Your mother is waiting and everyone is here now; we were just waiting for you two to finish up outside." Together, the trio walked towards the faint sound of laughter and the smell of freshly cooked meat and baked bread. The girl's brow furrowed and she moved closer to her father, little hands clinging to his shirt. Something was terribly wrong.

The laughter and clinking of silverware stopped in an instant. There was a brief moment of silence and the trio stopped in the hallway, not three feet from the door to the dining room. Now they all knew something was wrong. Suddenly, as if to confirm their suspicious, screams and breaking glass flooded the air, almost deafening compared to the silence only moments before. All three stood frozen in their spots, unable to react. Finally, the father tore away from his children and burst through the doors to the dining room, intending to stop whatever was causing the panic. The scene before him caused him to stop immediately. Blue eyes could barely drink in the carnage that was unfolding before him: women screaming, wine spilling, and glasses breaking. Men tried to fend off the attackers, but they all fell to the barrage of bullets or the punctures of knives. Remembering his children so close to this chaos, the father turned over his shoulder to yell to the two young ones, still frozen to their spots in sheer terror. "Run, children! Save yourselves!"

Still in shock, the children stared at their father, barely comprehending his words. After a moment's hesitation, the father ran from the dining room and stopped before them, long arms reaching out and shoving them backwards, gently, but with emphasis. Blue eyes wide, the children turned and ran down the hallway, the boy looking over his shoulder towards his father as he ran back into the dining room. The sudden transition of his shoes from a rug to the hardwood floor without watching caused the boy to slip and fall, but he caught himself with his hands. Whimpering quietly, he reached for his sister and called out to her.

The young woman stopped and ran back to him immediately, taking his hand and hefting his smaller body up, quieting the boy. "Shh, dear. Do not call me by that name anymore, hmm? Call me Anya from now on. What is your new name?" She asked, trying to pull his mind away from the panic while she smiled down at him, walking briskly down the hallway.

The little boy looked contemplative, before his face lit up. "Adrian!" He responded, and reached up to tug gently at his sister's curly, crimson hair. The young woman smiled down at him and set him down on his feet, taking his hand and starting to run to the front door that stood only a few feet from them now. It seemed as though just as she reached her hand for the knob, everything went black. The two children never made it outside together again.

---------------

The woman now called Anya slowly came around. Blinking blue eyes open, her brow furrowed as she felt the throbbing pain at the back of her head and no memory of why she would be in this state. As she slowly grasped consciousness, she tried to sit up, but familiar hands pressed her down. "…Papa?"

"Yes, dear. I am right here. So are your mother, and your sisters, and your brother. We are all okay. How are you feeling? No, no… do not move. You may have hurt something. Do you have a headache? Are you dizzy? Tired?" His worried face appeared above hers, allowing her eyes to focus on him. A bruise on his cheek, accompanied by a cut near his temple brought back the memories of last night. The snowball fight, the domovoi… and then the panic. So it wasn't just a bad dream.

"I am fine, I think." Anya slowly moved all of her limbs, one by one, and nodded. Yes, I'm fine. Except for a very large headache…what happened?" She asked, looking up at her father and hoping that he could fill in some of the blanks in her memory. She did not remember the time between running down the hallway and winding up on the cold floor she was laying upon now.

"I…well." Her father sat back on his heels and shook his head. "You were hit over the head with a vase…or so we judged by the pieces that we took out of your hair. Your brother was too scared to run or protest or leave you… so he was not harmed. My daughter…" He paused and seemed to fight for words, teeth biting on his lower lip a moment. Sighing softly, his eyes met hers. "We've been captured. I don't know where we are since we were blind folded. They may have driven in circles around our home for an hour for all I know…or we could be in Petrograd. I lost track of time, though it was a rather lengthy bit of it that we were in the back of that vehicle. It appears as though we are in some cellar, or basement." He sat down cross-legged and sighed again. "I'm sorry…" His voice choked ever-so-slightly at the end as he closed his eyes, disappointed in himself.

Anya took everything in and stayed quiet for a moment as more memories slowly made their way back into her mind. The snowball fight with her brother. Her father taking them down the hallway and towards the laughter and food... Then the silence… followed by the breaking of glass and the screams of women and children with the shouts of men. She was running with her brother, but then he fell. She picked him up and ran again, and just before they reached the door something caused her to stop, to hesitate, and never make it outside. Something caused her to turn around and look back, eyes wide and horrified. …Gunshots.

"Anya!" Her new name caused her to snap out of her reverie and she blinked, glancing over to her brother, the origin of the sound. "I am sorry I did not save you." Tears were streaming down his face and his bloodshot eyes told her that he had been crying for a while.

With a furrowed brow, she reached out and took the boy into her arms, allowing him to sprawl out on top of her and bawl into her shoulder. Anya tried to soothe him, rubbing his back and kissing his temple while he tried to choke back the sobs. "Adrian, it's okay…"

"But… you would have been able to save me!" He argued through tears, dampened face lifting to look up at hers, nose sniffling several times.

"Obviously not, dear brother. I didn't quite make it." She pointed out with a rueful smile. After a few more quiet moments, she felt as though she could handle the throbbing in the back of her head. Anya sat up slowly, still holding her brother to her chest as she shifted so that he wound up seated in her lap, arms wrapped around her in an embrace. Their father moved closer to them and joined in the hug, his chocolate-coloured mustache and small beard tickling Anya's cheek.

In the relative calmness, Anya looked around the small, cold room and noticed only one door. If they had been captured, there would surely be a guard or two on the other side of it. A few moments later, the sound of malevolent laughter confirmed her suspicions. Glancing behind them, her eyes spotted a portion of the old wall that seemed off. It was slightly darker than the rest of the wall around it, as if the paint did not quite match the original colour, or it had been recently done. Unwilling to part with her brother and father, she tucked the oddity into the back of her mind for later consideration.

Now her blue eyes wandered around the rest of the bleak room. It was completely bare, no windows, and just the one door that led to the malevolent laughter. Her family sat near to them, close to the wall farthest from the door. Her mother had even sat down, leaning against the wall while Anya's other three sisters clung to her. Her mother looked tired and her sisters let out small sobs occasionally, but sniffling was frequent. It was terribly quiet otherwise-- uncomfortably quiet.

When her father had let go some time ago, Anya slowly moved over to the wall near her sisters and leaned against it. Adrian followed after her, climbing back into her lap and she reflexively wrapped her arms around him tightly, setting her chin upon his head. Their father moved to sit beside them and pulled on Anya's arm gently so that she was leaning against his shoulder. He moved his arm around behind her, wrapping it around her waist and pulling his youngest children against him for comfort.

Slowly the family began to fall asleep in the eerie silence of the cellar. Anya, however, was far too worked up and paranoid to even close her eyes for longer than a blink. She didn't know how they could sleep given the situation, but she wasn't going to wake them up to ask. She supposed they must have been up for a while, whereas she had been knocked out for some time. Anya kissed her father's cheek lightly and then Adrian's jet black hair while her hands massaged Adrian's back in an attempt to keep him calm and asleep. Out of all of the siblings, Anya and Adrian shared the closest bond, likely due to being the youngest of the five.

When the family was sleeping and Adrian had slipped to his side on the floor beside her, Anya's curiosity rose and she crawled over to the dark portion of the wall. Slowly she reached out a hand and ran fingertips over the surface. It wasn't wet paint, but it was definitely a recent change to the surface. She curled her hand into a fist and knocked on the wall. Her brow furrowed as a curious noise was made, or rather, a distinct lack of sound. Reaching over a bit, she knocked on that portion of the wall and heard the echo that she originally expected. The odd portion of the wall barely made a sound and felt rather weak in construction. Her curiosity had not been satisfied; in fact, it was piqued.

Anya crawled back over to her father to ask about the wall and show him, but the moment her hand reached out to touch his shoulder, the solitary door in the room was suddenly kicked open. Several men rushed through the door, armed with rifles. They lined up against the opposite wall and the final man to answer barked orders. "Stand up!" He stood in the middle of the small group of men and Anya assumed he was their leader. She wasn't far from the truth. The men themselves weren't quite distinguishable; they all wore the same clothing and their faces were covered. The family awoke with a start when the door had been kicked open, but no one moved right away, instead trying to figure out what was happening. "I said up, dammit!"

The family knew that it would not be wise to disobey a group of armed men. Adrian whined quietly when Anya stood up with him in her arms. She rubbed his back and kissed his forehead before whispering into his ear. "Everything will be alright…" Adrian was probably too old to be held, but Anya didn't mind; she was his older sister, and it was her duty to protect him.

"Line up against the wall." The man commanded. Immediately, the family shifted around and lined up as they were ordered, the children sticking close to their parents. When all was quiet, the lead man pulled a sheet of folded paper from his pocket, handing his gun to the man at his right. The crinkle of the crisp paper was the only sound that filled the room. After a short pause and a glance to the family, the man looked down and read from the paper. It started out rather dull, and so Anya zoned out for the vast majority of the little speech, except for the last words. "…Due to arising circumstances, we are ordered to execute you earlier than planned."

Anya's eyes widened and she nearly choked; had she heard him correctly? Cerulean eyes searched the man's face as if seeking the answer. The stoic features, broken by a cruel smirk as he noticed her gaze, did nothing but confirm her uncertainties. Again, the only sound in the room was the crinkle of paper, but the fear from her family emanated around them as though it were a thick cloud. The man shoved the paper back into his pocket and held up his hand. With the raising of his hand, the family straightened up and muscles tensed. Everyone knew what was going to happen as soon as that hand dropped. Anya's grip on Adrian tightened for a moment as defiant eyes stared down the barrels of the gun into the men's eyes. She had to do something.

As thoughts raced through her mind, plans developing, a quiet whisper came across her ears. "Anya. Run. Get out of here. Find a way."

She quickly glanced to her father, drawing her mind back to the present. "But what about…?"

Out of the corner of her eye, Anya saw the hand drop.

"Live!" Anya's father shouted, diving in front of his children as the deafening sound of the rifles firing filled the air. Reflexively, Anya hit the ground quickly and placed Adrian at her side, closest to the wall, farthest from the assailants.

"This way, Adrian." Anya crawled quickly towards the darker section of the wall that she had investigated earlier, Adrian at her side. It was now, or never. Lucky for them, the small room didn't take too long to fill with smoke from the shots.

As they crawled, only one thing could be heard above the noise of the shots: the screams of their family. A dull thud beside her, followed by something light, yet warm falling across her back caused Anya to stop. She glanced to her side, in horror. Staring back up at her were the vacant eyes of her mother, open in death. Anya's throat clenched shut and tears sprang to her eyes. She was frozen in horror.

A sharp ping to her side, followed by a stinging pain in her shoulder blade brought her back to the present situation. The yelp of pain couldn't make it past the knot in her throat, but the sudden shock caused her to move forward quickly, catching up with Adrian. Bullets seemed to rain around her, most of them missing, though one found its way into her left arm. Biting her lip to conceal the injury from Adrian, she pressed forward until that wall was in front of her eyes. Stopping, she reached and grabbed Adrian to signal him to stop as well. Risking a quick glance to his face and a survey of his body, she saw only tears and scrapes; no bullet wounds.

Anya pulled him closer to her side, and his small arms wrapped around her waist. Without hesitation, Anya started pounding her fists on the wall quickly, in desperation. It was their last hope. Somewhat to her surprise, the feeble material started to break and crumple beneath her fists. Behind it, she found a hole of sorts. Slender hands grabbed at the edges of the hole and pulled away larger chunks of the plaster. Adrian saw what she was doing and followed suit. Together they created a hole large enough for the both of them to see through. Anya peered in, coughing from the smoke in the room that also blurred what lay behind the mysterious, thin wall. Waving her hand in front of her, the smoke dissipated from the area long enough for Anya to catch sight of horizontal wooden planks. Eyes widening, hands gripped at the edges of the hole with a renewed fervor, tearing apart the plaster. Adrian backed up a couple of inches, watching curiously.

"Come, Adrian. Quickly now." Anya grabbed his arm and pulled him through the hole she had made, thin fingers prying at the side of the planks. Hinges creaked, and a door opened. "Run! Come on, we can make it. Father would want us to live…" Her voice cracked as she said 'father'. She knew he was dead. He and her mother would have been the primary targets of the sights of the rifles. The first bullets would have embedded themselves in their skin. But why were they killing the children? What had the children ever done wrong? Before an execution, there was supposed to be a trial. Before a trial, there was supposed to be a crime. What crime could the innocent children have possibly committed?

Screams resounded near the youngest siblings. One in particular caused Anya to pause and glance over her shoulder, yet nothing but dismay resulted from the action. Her oldest sister sat in the corner only few feet away. Tears were streaming down the soft, once flawless face, yet they mingled with blood from a wound across her cheek. The new white dress she had worn for her boyfriend that fateful day now hung in ruins on her body; torn, dirtied and blood-stained.

Anya called her name and motioned for her sister to follow her. Only, her older sister never heard nor saw her. Her sister's eyes just went wide and she screamed, frail arms rising to try to shield herself from something that Anya could not see at first. Then the silhouette of a tall, broad man blocked Anya's sight of her sister. The smoke obscured her vision and she started to move towards that corner to help her sister.

The man moved away. Before Anya's vision now lay a sight that paralleled the image of her dead mother's eyes. Her oldest sister lay on her side, pressed up against the wall. Blood covered the white dress on her body, and small hands tried in vain to cover the wounds and stop the bleeding. It was too late. Anya was forced to watch as her sister's breathing grew rapid and her eyelids fluttered. One last sigh, one last blink. Crimson soaked the white dress and slowly pooled around the delicate body. If only that was not Anya's last image of her beloved sister.

Anya sat on her knees at the entrance of the passageway. It was one thing to know your family was being slaughtered and yet another to see the actual murder. Another bullet slid into her left arm and brought her consciousness back to reality yet again. Quickly, she moved through the door and crawled through a dirt passage until she was able to stand, finally running to catch up to Adrian. Another door at the end of the passageway. Anya ripped it open and hissed as her breath was stolen by the crisp, cold air of outside. Eyes quickly glanced around, and then to the snow near her feet. There were no footprints in the snow, and Adrian was no where to be found.

"Adrian!" She yelled, turning around and sprinting back through the passageway until she had to crawl again. Elbows and forearms gathered scrapes, but she hardly felt the dirt digging deeper into the small wounds. The smoke drying out her eyes told her she was close to the scene. She reached the door that separated her from the murder. Without hesitation, her hands gripped at the wood and pulled with all of her strength. The door would not budge. "Adrian! Please!" Tears spilled down her face. She dug her nails into the wood and pulled, but the effort was not enough. A couple of nails broke and she fell backwards, strength slowly starting to leave her. She hoped this was all a terrible nightmare and it would all be over soon. Her mother would come to wake her up from her thrashing and embrace her in a warm hug. Breakfast would be served soon, her whole family gathered around the table and laughing…

"Go, Anya!" A voice from the other side of the door. Anya blinked several times, unsure of what she had heard, or if she was hallucinating. It sounded… almost like Adrian. "Anya! Go!" The voice held more urgency and almost felt as though it forced her to turn around and start crawling away. She wanted to save her youngest and only brother, but it would be in vain and she knew it. They would both die. The entire family would be dead if she tried to save him. Anya knew that her family would want her to live, if not for herself, then for them.

Anya closed her eyes and crawled down the passageway, away from the smoke, shots, and screams. Then she stood and ran through the open door into the gray Russian night. White snow crumpled underneath her feet, leaving a trail of her footprints. Drops of crimson stained the snow and tears hardly had a chance to leave cerulean eyes before freezing to the pale face. Stumbling steps had no precise course, except to take her away from the cold-blooded mass murder.


	2. Yevgeniy

A/N: Here's Revised Chapter Two! Not a whole lot to say on it. Soooo. Enjoy. ;D

* * *

The chill breeze bit at every part of pallid exposed skin and found its way under clothing to nip at frail arms and legs. In her haste, Anya had no time to snatch layers to pile on, leaving her defenseless to the onslaught of the cold. Gradually, her body became numb. The dress upon her body was fashioned for winter, but not for a Russian winter. The dress started out white at the shoulders and gradually bled into a sky blue, then a cerulean, then a navy, finally darkening to black at the hems. When the dress had first arrived from Germany, a gift from her father, it had been a beautiful dress that accented her eyes wonderfully. Now, the only thing that it accented was her tiny, frail frame and the scene from which she had just run. The priceless fabric was forever ruined: the dress held many tears now, as well as the blood drops splattered on nearly every inch.

Anya's mind wandered to thoughts of a jade dress that was similar to the one she wore now. Her legs were freezing and the build up of lactic acid in her muscles finally caused her to collapse. She crawled near to a tree, curling up in a ball behind it to shield herself from the wind as much as she could manage. Her father had bought the jade dress from the Germans not too long ago, as well, but it had quickly become her favourite. It was long and flowing, long enough that her mother had finally let her wear heels so the hems would not drag on the ground so much. Anya had dreams of dancing at balls with handsome men twirling her around the floor to a waltz…

Her dreams were rudely interrupted by an immense pressure upon her chest. She coughed and her eyes flew open, only to meet a pair of ice blue eyes. They did not belong to Adrian. She opened her mouth to scream, but a gloved hand quickly covered her mouth and cut off the noise. Anya had not run far enough.

Breathing hard, she finally allowed her eyes to take in just what was going on before her. In front of Anya crouched a rather large man, wearing mostly dark colours underneath of his black leather trench coat. His piercing blue eyes seemed to be able to look right through her, and his flaxen hair was about an inch long and untamed. He caught her looking at him, and a rather nasty smirk spread across his lips. "Stupid bitch… you didn't have to run, pet." He spoke in fluent, accented Russian with some archaic hints to the word choices. The voice that spoke was deeper than any man's voice she had heard before; were the situation not quite so perilous, she might have thought the voice to be rather alluring. "But no need to worry. The mortal executioners will never find you here."

Anya furrowed her brow at his choice in words and at her look, he loosened his hand's grip upon her mouth. "…you…you speak of mortals as if you are not one, sir." She stammered, due to both fear and the cold that had taken hold of her body. She also hoped that being slightly polite would do something in her favour.

"Ah, pet, well. I do not wish to place myself on the same level as say, you know, those men back in your home." The grin remained, and he finally removed his hand from her mouth completely, using it instead to pat her cheek. Anya whined quietly and started shivering uncontrollably as her body gave in to hypothermia. The blonde man in front of her watched for a few moments, before sighing heavily and rolling his eyes. "Alright, alright. I'll make it quick." Slowly, he bent down close to her, his own body also acting as a brief shield from the biting winds. Warm lips touched her neck, but it didn't relax Anya one bit. She started to kick and to thrash, doing anything that would injure the man and hopefully push him away.

One of her kicks fell on a sensitive spot of the man in front of her. He winced and his grip loosened for a fraction of a second, but that was all that Anya needed. She sprang up to her feet against the will of her body and started to run on frail limbs, the snow making it incredibly difficult. She didn't make it far. Before too long, a huge, warm body collided with hers and knocked them to the snow beneath her. The body pressed her smaller one into the snow, melting, and adding more chill to her poor body. The man sat up, blue eyes watching the frail woman underneath of him. Suddenly, he had better plans for the beautiful face. He took her by the arms, shifting them to hold both tiny wrists in one of his large hands. Free hand shifted around in his pocket before he withdrew a syringe, index finger and thumb plucking off the cap before he shifted his weight, pinning her further. "Relax, pet. Just a quick pain, and then you will feel quite warm. Promise." He winked before leaning down, aiming the needle for the place where neck and shoulder met. Anya started up her protests again in earnest, but he acted before she managed to gain any advantage.

Anya's movements stopped entirely as she felt a piercing pain near the side of her neck. Impulse wanted her to scream, but the noise wouldn't come out. As the blonde man pushed the liquid into her vein, Anya's shivering slowly started to subside and her will to fight drained. She closed her eyes slowly as the man sat up again, withdrawing the needle from her neck. "No, no, pet. You cannot leave me right now." Anya gasped as she felt a sharp pain against her cheek, and realized that the man had slapped her gently to keep her awake. "Don't worry, pet. You are not going to die. No, not yet. Maybe never." The man stood up and braced himself before leaning down and picking her up, unceremoniously slinging her over his shoulder. "This is only the beginning."

"…what are you talking about?" Anya murmured from her spot over his shoulder. Her body hung limp over the jacket, a rather odd tingling sensation spreading throughout her limbs. It was a struggle to merely stay awake, but the fight remaining in her told her that losing consciousness was not on the to-do list.

"Oh nothing, nothing. You will understand everything sooner or later." The hand holding her in place patted her back. "My name is Yevgeniy Mikhailvich Sergikov. And you are?"

At least in her state, common sense still reigned. She knew that it would be dangerous, and perhaps even deadly to use her real name in this situation. Cleverly, she already had this answer planned. She couldn't trust anyone. "…Anya Nikolaevna Zharkova."

"Well, Anya. You're coming home with me. We'll get you out of this awful cold and hopefully into new clothing and perhaps eat a meal, if you are a good little girl." He responded with another pat to her back. With their bodies so close, Anya felt his muscles tense beneath her. Suddenly, the world around her changed and she felt sick to her stomach. The air was different; there was no breeze, nor the crunch of snow as Yevgeniy continued to walk. Wherever they were, it was dark and Anya's eyes couldn't focus on a single thing. Yevgeniy noticed her silence and felt her uncomfortable shifting, glancing over to her, before forward again. "That's a side effect of teleportation the first couple of times."

The man leaned down and arms gently set Anya down on what felt like a mattress. "…teleportation?" The word baffled the young girl. She had heard stories of the sort of thing and read in newspapers of people that could 'blink' from one place to the next. Her father had told her that it was all speculation, and that there was no such thing as people with 'extraordinary powers'. Then again, her father did not believe in the domovoi… "…teleportation?" Her voice was weak and quiet, but in the silent room, the man easily heard her question.

"Yes, pet. Teleportation. It is much easier than walking, faster than driving, and also better for the environment." He answered with another wink and pat to her cheek. "Rest up here. There is a change of clothes there on the bed beside you, but you may not feel like doing much except for sleeping right away. When you wake up, we will get you some food before going to see my boss."

"…your boss?" Anya groggily shifted, crawling up onto the bed and towards a pillow, finally collapsing onto her side as she tried to get comfortable. The mattress and pillow felt as though they were filled with goose feathers, and the sheets felt rather stiff. Anya didn't care. The sheets held in her warmth and transferred it back into her body, slowly starting to bring warmth back into her body. The shivering returned after a few moments, but she knew that that was a good sign by now, knowing her body's reflexive reactions were kicking in again.

"Don't worry about it. You'll meet him soon." Yevgeniy shifted around, but Anya's eyes were closed and so she didn't see where he was going. Suddenly, a blanket was draped over her body. Her eyes opened and she still could not see in the dark room. By noise alone, she was able to hear Yevgeniy move away from her, and then the scooting of wood against wood made her think of a chair that he may have pulled out to sit in. "Sleep, pet. You'll feel better."

Anya remained quiet as though she were listening to the man. She didn't quite know what was going on; he had not really hurt her yet, but then again, he wasn't being too terribly kind about anything either. There was no doubt in her mind; she had been kidnapped. But was she going to be killed? Could she escape? …Or was this man going to turn out to be a kind, caring man that simply wanted to see a young girl nursed back to health, out of the reach of the Communist purges? She was afraid to sleep, but her eyes were trying so hard to droop shut and it was so tempting to give in to the temptation. Anya fought the feeling for as along as she could, in vain. A few moments after Yevgeniy's last words to her, she found herself dreaming.

-----

_A girl with red hair ducked out of the way from a thrown snowball. She giggled and quickly bent down, hands coming together in the snow to create a small ball of it between them. Standing up with blue eyes locking on the young boy, the hand drew back before launching the snowball at the boy. The boy, unable to move fast enough with his legs buried in the snow, suddenly had that snowball splattering upon his coat sleeve. "Hah! I win!"_

"_No you don't!" He made his own snowball in retaliation and threw it, watching as the little white ball exploded on her stomach and caused her to drop the one she had been making. "I win!"_

"_Alright, alright. Fine, you win." The girl laughed as she brushed snow from her jacket, finally seeming to give in._

"_Hey!" The boy pouted at his sister and then ran towards her, full speed. She didn't try to avoid the oncoming boy, instead holding her arms open and letting him tackle her over into the snow. Now it was a short game of wrestling, younger brother versus older sister._

"_Come, children! It's time for dinner!" The two siblings stopped in their game, panting breaths the only sound for a moment. Rosy cheeks turned towards their home and the open door, spotting their father in the doorway. The daughter waved and then stood, leaning down to help her brother up before leading him towards the light and the warmth._

_A blur of time, it seemed, before she found herself at the doors to the dining room, standing between her father and her brother. There was the sound of glasses breaking, but that was eclipsed by the sounds of shouting and screaming._

_Now the red headed girl was running, fleeing, the screaming slowly growing distant. She carried the young boy in her arms and before too long, she could see a door in front of her. She knew she had to make it do that door, or else… or else what? Her feet kept running, carrying her closer to that door. All she had to do was make it to that door and everything would be alright; she would escape with her brother. They would be safe. They would live._

_Finally, the door was in front of her. Quickly, she reached out and opened it, running through the open door to freedom. Or so she thought. To her horror, instead of the pure white snow that she should have been running through, she found herself in a small, dark, and cold cellar. Blue eyes fell on a horrifying scene before her: she was standing against the wall, brother in her arms much like he was now, next to her family. All were staring with pure terror in their eyes down the barrels of armed men, listening as one of them read their fates aloud. This time, she had to watch._

_The man folded the paper and placed it back into his pocket. The hand dropped. She and her brother dropped to the floor, crawling together towards that darkened wall. She watched as she broke the covering over the hole, but now… now was the moment she looked up and over to see her oldest sister in the corner._

"_Come on! Follow me!" In vain, she watched again as she motioned for her sister to follow her, but her sister would never move from that corner. The man came again, standing over her poor sister. The bayonet on the end of his gun pierced the thin body again and again, blood pooling, arms thrown up to shield her, uselessly. She was forced to look on as she sat frozen at the doorway, watching her sister's life drain out of her in the blood flowing from the wounds in her abdomen. She watched her sister die for a second time._

_Now, she saw herself move into the hole. Blue eyes narrowed, trying to see through the smoke. This should have been where she called for her brother and he never came. This time, she would have to see what became of him._

_A man that wasn't dressed at all like the others held her brother in his arms; he must have caught him when she was frozen by the sight of her sister's death. Why hadn't she bothered to turn around to make sure her brother was there before crawling off? The strange man closed his arms around her brother in a warm embrace. Then, he turned his head towards her, blue eyes locking with her own before he simply vanished from the room without a trace._

_Eyes wide, she tried to comprehend what she thought had just happened. Had he really been there? Or was that man a simple figment of her imagination derived from her hope that her youngest brother had somehow managed to survive? The guns stopped firing and the smoke gradually started to thin. The body of her father was closest beside her feet. Bullets had pierced his body countless times and crimson stained his white jacket, before pooling onto the floor beneath him. Next to him lay one of her sisters, then her mother, and then her other sister. Her mother had tried to shield her children from the slaughter, but there were just too many men. Their pale dresses also lay in ruins, torn by bullets and stained by blood. Her mother's eyes were still open, vacant stare turned upward towards the ceiling, yet to the heavens. Her oldest sister's body still lay alone in the corner, mutilated. The sight would haunt her forever. While she had a slight idea of the end result, she could still push an imaginary image from her mind. But now that she had seen the real outcome, the image would forever haunt her mind, conscious and dreaming. The blood of her family still flowed slowly from their bodies, mingling together on the floor between their bodies. No one deserved this. No one._

_Anya screamed in horror and frustration, in fear and pain. Why didn't she save them? Why did she live?_

-----

Again, her mouth was covered by a large hand, though this time it was bare; no glove. Opening her blue eyes, Anya found herself sitting up with Yevgeniy beside her. Apparently, she had woke up screaming and he had come over to stop the noise. "Shh, pet. Just a dream."

Blue eyes shot towards his face, a fiery anger behind them. Unbound hands reached up and pulled his hand away from her mouth. "Just a dream?" Her tone was incredulous. How could he call what she had to witness, again, just a dream? "It was a nightmare, and yet it is reality! A horror! How is it 'just a dream'!" His blue eyes watched her face stoically. With no reaction from the man, emotion overtook her. Suddenly she felt overwhelmed and dropped her face into her hands. Finally, the emotions had caught up to her. She cried for the loss of her family, for her failure in trying to save them. She cried for their souls, their spirits, for their rest despite a tragic ending. No comfort came from Yevgeniy; not that she had ever seen any emotion on his face or in his eyes despite the cruel smirking. After several moments, Anya lifted her face from her hands, fingertips wiping at the tears on her cheeks. Blurry vision focused upon Yevgeniy as she let out a quiet sigh, but he still looked back at her with that blank stare.

"Hm. Well. No worries. It is understandable, I suppose." Again, that hand reached to pat her cheek before it was joined by the other on her shoulders, pushing her down gently. "You can't possibly sleep well with your current memories. I'll help. Just lie down and relax. Your sleep will come with no nightmares this time. Promise."

Anya's small body easily gave into the pushing. She had no desire to anger this man, rather fearful of any rage that those eyes could hold. They always said that the quiet ones were the worst ones to anger. Anya reached and pulled the blanket over her body again, eyes glancing to Yevgeniy suspiciously as she turned to her side, settling.

"Close your eyes, pet. The dreams won't come this time. I promised." His voice came from behind her, rather close. Again, Anya gave in, nodding and closing her eyes without hesitation. Yevgeniy reached over her, large hand falling onto her forehead gently. Anya was asleep in a matter of moments. She needed unhindered, recuperative sleep if she was going to survive past this night, and the memory of her family's murder would not allow that. A bit of coerced sleep never hurt anyone too badly, Yevgeniy figured.

He returned to his desk, but his eyes kept drifting up to the sleeping form of the girl. Her breathing remained slow and steady and she shifted only a few times during the few hours that he allowed her to sleep. The nightmare had not returned to haunt her unconsciousness. After a few hours in the assisted sleep, Yevgeniy stood and strode over to her sleeping form, one hand reaching out to shake her by the arm gently. "Come, pet. Time to meet Kazimir."


End file.
